It was an off-hand comment, "Get a room" tossed at them in a disdainful manner, that stopped them. Half a second after Spike heard the words, processed the phrase as the truly brilliant idea it truly was, Buffy detached herself from him. She pressed a hand to his chest and cast a furtive glance around from their dark (but completely not private) alcove under the stairs. Perhaps she'd forgotten all her friends had gone already.

"Stop," she said. Her eyes looked everywhere but at him. Her obvious denial burned, and he didn't want to let her pretend there was nothing going on here. It was she who'd turned to him on the dance floor; she who'd pulled him into a searing kiss, wound her arms around his neck and twined her body against his. Spike curled his fingers around her hips and tugged her closer to him.

"Why?" He pressed his forehead against hers. His breath rushed out of him, and she had to feel how much he wanted her. Buffy twisted against him, and their mouths met again. He couldn't get close enough to her, though she was pressed so tightly against him a whisper wouldn't fit between them. He wanted more, wanted her skin bared to his fingers, wanted her mouth and hands on his flesh.

Only she'd said 'stop' so he mustered up everything in him and did just that. He pulled his mouth from hers and put an arm's length between them. "Buffy," he said. Just that, her name like a prayer, and nothing else. He fixed his eyes on hers. In his peripheral vision he saw her lick her lips, then she nodded slightly.

"Not here." Her voice was hushed, but the words were clear. She stepped towards him, closed the distance and wrapped her hands around his biceps. "Take me home," she whispered, and dropped a kiss just below his ear.

Spike tugged her across the bench seat and out the driver's side door. It may have been quicker to disentangle themselves, but Buffy had no desire to remove her lips from Spike's, or peel her hands out from under his shirt. Judging by the firm grasp he had on her ass, he could relate.

They stumbled clumsily up the few steps to his door. Spike spun them so he could reach the doorknob and banged the back of Buffy's head against the door in doing so. She grunted at the impact.

Spike pulled away from her, and somehow that hurt worse than the slight ache at the back of her skull. "Sorry about that," he said. His lips moved against her cheek with his words.

"I'm fine." She buried her fingers in his hair and pulled him back to her for another searching, searing kiss. He fumbled with the keys for a minute before the door finally opened behind her.

Buffy was the one to break the kiss this time. She backed over the threshold, keeping her eyes fixed on Spike. The blue of his eyes had gone dark; their smoldering heat stirred a reaction deep in her belly. Spike slammed the door shut with such force that the windows in the living room rattled in their panes. He stalked toward her, quickly closing the gap between them. A bolt of desire shot through her. She needed his hands on her, his mouth on hers, his lips and tongue moving in concert with her own.

Spike kissed her hard, holding her face in his hands, and walked her backwards into a wall. He fisted his hands in her hair, almost to the point of pain, before releasing her from his grip and his mouth at the same time. He splayed both hands against the wall and leaned his forehead against hers. His breath came in fast gasps against her lips; his body pinned her to the wall. He pressed, hard and needy, against her belly as his chest moved against hers. When she squirmed against him, he inhaled sharply, then shifted his hips against hers.

Buffy moaned and reached up to recapture his incredible mouth. He kissed as if he were dying for her, as if he'd been too long in a desert and she was a spring of clear water. He drank her down; she'd never been kissed like this before. With no conscious effort, her legs came up around his waist, and she climbed him like a vine.

Spike wrapped an arm around her to support her weight; his other hand snaked up her left thigh, under her skirt. His fingers grazed against her pussy. One finger slipped beneath the elastic of her panties and dragged slowly along her labia. She squirmed into his too-light touch, wanting more. Now.

His hand disappeared from her sex, and then he peeled her legs from around him. Buffy firmly disagreed with this plan and tightened her grip in protest. Spike pulled his mouth off of hers. "Wanna see you, pet." His voice, a sinful whisper—like stolen chocolate—rumbled through her, zinged an electric shock straight to her clit.

Her feet hit the floor.

He stepped back and raked his hungry eyes over her. His glance tripped along her nerves; she could honest-to-god feel his eyes on her body.

"Touch me," she commanded.

Spike arched his scarred eyebrow at her tone and rolled his tongue behind his smug grin. The silver barbell through his tongue winked at Buffy, and she was suddenly consumed with the need—a deep, physical ache—to know how that would feel on her clit.

"But you're all covered up," Spike said. He trailed a finger along the high collar of her shirt. "You look like a Victorian schoolmarm. All buttoned up and prim."

"A schoolmarm?"

Buffy barely had time to get offended before he leaned in and nibbled gently on her throat. "Mmhmm. It's fucking hot."

"Oh—"

He caught her lips with his, and his hands skimmed over her arms. Though he was barely touching her, it was driving her crazy.

"Spike, you need to—" She met his eyes, and her courage suddenly failed her.

"Oh, I know what I need to do." His hands went to the collar of her shirt and yanked. Buttons flew from their moorings and clattered across the wood floor. "Oops."

His unapologetic smirk begged to be wiped off his face. Buffy launched herself from the wall and sucked his bottom lip into her mouth. Spike worked her shirt down her arms. Her wrists caught in the sleeves, and for a moment she was helpless before him, her hands tangled together at the small of her back. He released her from the fabric before she could fully process the surge of fresh lust that jolted through her.

"Upstairs," she managed between frantic kisses. "Now." She would have said please, but Spike was rather insistent she use her tongue for other purposes. She wasn't inclined to argue.

They made slow, stumbling progress across the foyer to the staircase. After half-crawling backwards up three risers, Buffy stopped and tugged at the hem of Spike's t-shirt. "Off." He obliged her and skinned it off in one smooth motion.

Guh. She put her hands on his shoulders and slid them down his chest. Her palms curved over his pecs, cupped the small swell of muscle lightly as her fingers pinched his nipples. She leaned forward and sucked his left nipple into her mouth. The ring piercing it danced on her tongue as she teased the hardening bud.

Spike snaked an arm around her and pulled her tight against him. His other hand threaded through her hair and gently pulled her head away from his chest. He panted for breath and just stared at her. "Are you real? You are … fuck, Buffy, I—" He crushed her to him and plundered her mouth with his. Slowly, slowly, he nudged her up and back.

His hands were busy as they crab-crawled up the stairs. He deftly unhooked her bra and pulled it from her arms. He pushed her up another step as his tongue swirled around first one nipple and then the other. His hand unzipped her skirt and maneuvered it down her legs. By the time they'd climbed another two stairs, she was naked save for her black thong and her knee-high boots.

Spike leaned back and looked at her. His hand traced the path his eyes took. His fingers glided across her collarbone, through the valley between her breasts, over the curve of her ribs to dip into her belly button. She shivered under the feathery attentions; a trail of gooseflesh followed his touch. "So pretty, Buffy," he said as he curved forward and pressed a kiss to her stomach. Her abdominal muscles jumped. His hand curved around her hip as he kissed his way to the edge of her thong. He grasped the elastic in his teeth and pulled it away from her skin, then let it snap back into place.

"Up," Buffy said. She twined her fingers through his hair and tugged him to her for another kiss. They made steady progress until Buffy's heel caught on the second-to-last riser, and she landed on her back in the upstairs hallway. The floor was cold against her overheated skin. Spike was on her before she could get up, hovering above her and sucking on her nipples while his other hand dipped inside her panties to stroke against her slippery skin.

He pinched her clit between his thumb and forefinger and tugged gently. "Ooohh." Buffy writhed against his fingers; she panted and twisted on the floor. "Oh, my god. Please," she said. "Please, please." She had never heard herself sound like this before: breathy and desperate. She wasn't even sure what she was asking for, what she wanted him to do. She just wanted more. More of his hands on her, more of his skin against hers, more of his mouth and tongue and clever fingers.

He slid his thumb inside of her in response to her pleas, and the heel of his hand pressed against her clit. She strained into the pressure and nearly sobbed when his hand slipped away from her. Spike released her breast with a wet plop and looked down at her. He licked his lips and bent down to tease a kiss across her mouth. He pulled away when she sought to deepen the kiss.

"Spike. Please."

"Mmm, love hearing you say my name," he said. He flicked his tongue across the strand of silver hoop earrings that scaled down the shell of her ear. Her toes curled. "Love hearing you beg." Spike met her affronted glare with a smirk. "What do you want me to do, now you're asking so nice?"

Buffy caught her breath. What she wanted. Spike twirled his tongue behind his teeth again, and the flashing silver jewelry caught her eye. She watched, mesmerized, as he pushed the barbell along the cage of his teeth, expertly rolling it around in his mouth. "I want you to—" She bit her tongue and felt herself blush as she nearly dared to name her desire.

Spike didn't miss her embarrassment, of course. Not with the way her body was glowing like a giant flashing neon sign. "Ooh, you went all pink, kitten." He lowered his head to dip his tongue into her belly button and drag it up her abdomen and between her breasts. He moved up her chest until the ball of his tongue stud traced the notch of bone at the apex of her sternum. She shivered as the jewelry hummed along her skin.

"I know what you want," Spike whispered against her collarbone. He slid his hand down her side, and his fingers snuck beneath her panties to stroke her hip. He worked an arm beneath her, lifting her off the floor so he could slide her silky thong down her legs. When it got caught on the heel of her boot, he tugged roughly until it came free with a rrrip. Buffy glared at him; he smiled smugly in return as he slipped her ruined underwear into his back pocket.

"You're awfully hard on my wardrobe, Spike," she said.

He laughed at that. He grabbed her hand and placed it between his legs. The heat of his engorged penis radiated through the fabric of his jeans. "I'm just awfully hard." He grinned as she blushed a deeper red. She didn't move her hand, though.

"That's … mature." But she laughed as she said it, and still her hand didn't move.

It was a strange moment. Laying naked on her neighbor's floor, her hand on his dick, her pussy craving his tongue: it was hot and erotic—and completely unlike her. And possibly the best Thanksgiving she'd ever had. If someone had told her this was what she'd be doing tonight, the last word she'd have associated with it was fun. But that's what she realized now: she was having fun with Spike.

Naked fun. There were worse things in the world, though maybe that was just the four cocktails talking.

Then Spike's eyes met hers again, and Buffy nearly gasped at the raw need on his face. He trailed a finger up her right leg, and all thoughts of fun were burned out of her, replaced by the fire his touch ignited along all her nerves. He reached the junction of her thighs and nudged her legs apart with a tap. She let her knees fall out to the side and lay there, splayed and naked, open to his heated stare.

"Look at you." His lips followed the path his finger had just traveled. He pressed a line of hot, open-mouthed kisses on the soft flesh of her thighs. He paused when he reached her sex and gusted a breath over the curls that covered her. "You're so wet for me." He dipped a finger between her labia, dragging it from her entrance up, up to tap against her swollen clit.

"Spike." She panted out two quick breaths. "Want—"

He looked up at her. They both held their breath as Spike's finger circled the nubbin of flesh. "I know, Buffy." He dropped his head to brush a kiss onto her moist flesh. Her hips bucked up.

Buffy gasped when he took his mouth away. He'd been teasing her—light touches and soft kisses designed to excite her without allowing her any satisfaction—and she'd had enough. She took hold of his head in both hands, her nails digging into his scalp. He chuckled against her skin and allowed her to push his head between her thighs.

Spike curled his hands under her hips, cupped her ass in his palms, and tipped her pelvis up to him. Finally—finally!—his tongue slipped into her folds and leisurely licked her from bottom to top. He swirled the tip of his tongue around her clit, then flattened it against her.

"Hoh!" Buffy squirmed beneath him. Spike released his hold on her buttocks in order to throw her legs over his shoulders and press a finger into her pussy. Her arms spasmed out to her sides, and her fingers scrabbled across the floor in search of something to hang on to as he licked and nuzzled and sucked. He pulled her clit into his mouth. She could feel the firm pressure from the barbell when he ran his tongue over her sensitive bundle of nerves. It was subtler than she'd imagined it would be, but the sensation sent a thrill racing through her.

Another finger joined the first one he'd slide inside her, and Buffy's stomach muscles clenched. He pressed harder, and the motion twanged and pulled at something deep inside her; a wave of reverberations swept through her body. She could feel the press of his fingers all the way to her scalp and her fingertips. It was too much, too fast, and she let out a wordless wail, her back arching off the floor. Spike chuckled against her cunt, and the vibrations spread through her. Her inner muscles fluttered, warning of her impending orgasm. She was so close. Then his fingers were gone, and Buffy almost screamed in frustration.

"Spike … please," she begged. His hand smoothed over her abdomen and held her down when she rocked her hips up again.

"I got you," Spike said. His breath puffed out over her engorged folds, and his tongue replaced the emptiness left by his fingers. Buffy swiveled her hips up to his mouth, driving him deeper inside her. Her heels dug into his back. She worried fleetingly about hurting him with the sharp heels of her boots, then his tongue moved against a spot inside her that drove all thoughts out of her head. He planted a hand on her breast and rolled the nipple between his fingers. At the same time, his other hand plucked at her clit.

Buffy's climax ripped through her like a storm. Even though she'd known it was coming, the intensity of her orgasm took her by surprise. She gasped out a breath. Every muscle in her body clenched and tightened; her legs vised around Spike's head, and her hands clamped into the hard ridge of muscle on his shoulders. When she came back to herself, she was shaking, trembling like a new leaf in a windstorm. Tears ran down her face.

"Oh, my god," she managed. "That was …"

Spike rested his chin on her pubic bone and smiled lazily at her. His fingers still played at her nipple, and tiny aftershocks skittered across her skin. "That was a bloody revelation." He released her breast and slowly stood up. "And I'm not half done with you, pet."

He reached a hand out to her and lifted her up to stand before him. He quickly unlaced his boots and kicked them off to separate corners of the hall. His hands went to his waistband and unbuttoned his fly. Buffy watched with bated breath as he pushed the jeans over his slim hips and down his legs until he stood naked in front of her. She ran her eyes over him, appreciating the contour of his muscular chest and arms, the definition of his abdomen, the sharp cut of his hips. Then her gaze went lower and ...

"What is that?"

Spike followed her gaze to his cock. He grasped it in his left hand and gave it three long, slow strokes. Buffy's eyes and mouth opened into wide circles of amazement. Awe, Spike liked to think. He grinned and hitched his head to the side.

"Why, a bossy little thing like you? Don't even tell me you've never seen one of these before." He tugged his cock in her direction.

Buffy kicked one knee out and planted her hands on her hips. And, wow, did that do wonderful things to her tits. She looked like a fucking sex goddess: naked except for those knee-high boots with the wicked heels, nipples at full attention, lips red and swollen, and hair all mussed. He licked a taste of her luscious pussy from his lips.

And she was talking.

Spike released the grip he held on his penis; if he didn't, he'd end up coming just from the sight of her. "What's what, now, love?"

"That. Thing. In. Your." Buffy's bravado vanished, and she gestured vaguely at his pelvic region rather than complete her sentence. Spike smirked and took himself in hand again.

"Oh, this?" He pulled his foreskin back so she could get a good look at the thick stud running top-to-bottom through the head. "I think you're going to like this one, pet."

Buffy reached out a tentative hand and, with one gentle finger, traced around the piercing. He hissed in a breath at her barely-there touch, and she glanced up at him, startled.

"Didn't that hurt?" she asked. "I mean, like, a lot?"

Spike chuckled. "It did at that. Felt like I was on fire for three weeks straight." He grasped her wrist and pulled her flush to him. For the first time he felt her completely naked and pressed against his own bare skin. He wanted to do this every day for the rest of his life. Be with Buffy. In every way.

He wondered if she'd ever feel the same about him.

He spread his left hand across the small of her back; his pinky grazed the cleft of her ass, and she trembled against him. His other hand stroked the sweat-dampened strands of hair from her flushed cheeks. Buffy's eyes were still riveted to his cock—now pressed between their bodies. It jumped under her gaze. She flicked a look up at him, then back down to the object of her fascination. She reached out again and wrapped her thumb and forefinger around the shaft, just behind the glans. She rolled her fingers, and her breathing quickened as she watched his foreskin slide back and forth.

"I've never been with anyone who wasn't, um, you know. Circumcised."

How she could blush after he'd just had his tongue so far up her pussy she'd cried was a wonder to Spike. That almost derailed him from asking the question that had immediately occurred to him. "How many?"

Her hand stilled, and he realized, yes, he really had just said that aloud. Buffy stared at him, her expression unreadable.

"Sorry, pet." He looked down at his penis, the head nearly purple with blood and desire, and at Buffy's delicate fingers encircling him. "Bit distracted and all."

She licked her lips, and Spike couldn't pass up the temptation. He kissed her fiercely, wanting to erase the hint of doubt his impetuous words had brought to her eyes. She wound her arms around his neck and leaned into him, deepening the kiss. It was no work at all to lift her lithe frame into his arms and make his way down the hall to his bedroom. He set her down beside the bed and knelt in front of her to unzip her boots. Buffy steadied herself with a hand on his shoulder as he slid the first boot from her foot.

Her fingers traced over his back, and he winced as they brushed across a sore spot just below his shoulder blade. "I hurt you," she said quietly.

Spike slipped the other boot off and looked up at her. "'S'okay." He smiled. "Totally worth it, to watch you come." Another blush swept through her, igniting her skin. He trailed his hands up her legs and over her hips as he stood, then cradled the weight of her breasts in his palms. His thumbs tweaked her nipples, and she let out a little breathy gasp. Christ, he loved the noises she made.

Her eyes were wide and dark. "You're not … not into getting hurt when you're—" Buffy flicked his nipple ring lightly, then wrapped her warm hand around his cock. "Is that what the piercings are about? You like to be hurt?"

He groaned as she tightened her fist around him and moved it slowly up and down. "N-no," he stuttered, and grabbed her wrist, freeing himself. He sat on the bed and pulled her down to sit next to him. "These," he gestured at his piercings, "didn't have anything to do with sex."

Buffy raised an eyebrow and sent a pointed glance toward his nether regions. "Really. But I'll like that one, isn't that what you said?"

Spike smoothed her hair behind her ear and leaned in to nibble at her neck. "Mmm, you will, kitten," he said, and licked a line up her neck. "Didn't get it for that reason, 's'just a bonus, that it's gonna make you feel good."

"Oh." She tipped her head back to give him easier access to her throat. She moaned and whimpered as he took full advantage of her open invitation. His little sex kitten, and he was making her purr. He cupped his hands around her breasts, but then Buffy put her hands on his chest and pushed him away.

"So why'd you do that?"

She was staring at his cock again. Which Spike didn't mind, but he'd rather she stop talking about it and start touching it again. He wondered if she'd suck it if he asked very nicely. Then he processed her words. He needed a moment to allow his blood-deprived brain to formulate an answer so he leaned Buffy back onto the bed and distracted her by licking her breasts until she moaned.

The truth would be too much, a mood killer he was in no mood for. "Can we save the question and answer for later?" He tempered the sharp edge to his question with a long, slow exploration of her left nipple. "Want to be inside you."

Buffy sucked in a heaving breath and pushed herself up onto her elbows. She fixed him with a serious stare. "Can you wear a condom with … that?" She nodded towards him, and her eyes inexorably followed along. Spike suppressed a grin.

"Of course," he said, and stood to fetch a prophylactic. He was sure there was at least one in his bedside table. Buffy's hand closed around his wrist before he got far.

"Do you have to? I mean, I'm … safe. If you are?"

Her question surprised him, stilled his motion, and he turned to look at her. She was gnawing on her bottom lip. Spike leaned in to her, replaced her teeth with his own, and kissed her til she was breathless. "Don't have to, kitten," he said, when they came up for air. "If you don't want me to."

She looked up at him then with eyes gone dark with lust. Her pupils were blown, the green of her irises nearly swallowed up. "It feels different—without one, right? Better?"

Spike nodded.

"That's what I want," she whispered.

He nodded again and captured her lips in a fierce kiss. He planted a knee on the bed, between her thighs, and urged her backwards across the mattress. He covered her in kisses, each inch of heated flesh his tapestry. Her skin pebbled behind his touch as he dragged his fingers across her abdomen. She was so open to him, so responsive, and suddenly Spike couldn't wait one second longer. He pushed his hips into the cradle of her thighs, and the belled head of his penis brushed against her sensitive clit.

She was so hot and wet, he thought he would combust. He slipped between her folds and nudged his tip against her opening. Where a moment before he'd been wound up, nearly beyond reason, to be touching her, to be inside her—now he couldn't go slow enough. He wanted to savor this moment; Buffy panted below him, her arms twined around his neck, as he slipped the barest inch into her tight channel, and then edged back out.

"Spike!" Her voice echoed from his bare bedroom walls. Her heels dug into his buttocks and urged him forward.

He resisted her just enough to make it last. Each centimeter was a battle of wills between them. Spike grasped her face between his hands and stared straight into her eyes as he sunk another inch into her. Her rapid exhalations gusted across his lips as she stared back at him. Finally she relaxed in his embrace, stopped forcing her sharp knees into his hips and her sharper heels into his arse. He braced his elbows on either side of her rib cage, curled his fingers around her neck in an echo of her hold on him, and captured her lips once more as he shifted his hips flush against hers.

Buffy's head flew back once he was fully seated inside of her. She clenched her cunt muscles around him so tightly he nearly went off in that first instant. It was only by sheer force of will that he held on until she relaxed around him. He felt he could write a sonnet to her, to the heat of her body and the way he fit so perfectly inside her. He panted into her neck for a second before he felt himself together enough to look at her.

"I can … I can feel you. I mean—"

Spike smirked at her expression, her earnest wide eyes. "Told you you'd like it." He swiveled his hips then, feeling smug and in control once more. He could feel what it was made her gasp so: a soft, spongy spot deep inside her. He could practically see how each touch vibrated through her. She clamped her knees against his hips like a vice and held him in place.

"There, there, there," she chanted, eyes squeezed tight shut and her hands in claws around his shoulders.

He obliged; as he stroked,he pressed on there, there, there, and then she stopped chanting, held her breath, clenched against him and around him so tight that he knew he had no choice but to come along with her, and so he did.